


Calling

by SandriaC (SandrC)



Series: Ashlesha: Mater Natura [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: OC-centric, Transcendence AU, regional gothic, the cult of the nameless form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandriaC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Bring me your lost ones.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling

“ _Bring me your lost ones_ ,” it said, spray-painted on the wall of a crumbling relic of the 21st century. Beneath the strangely brown-red paint was a symbol that looked a bit like an old QR code and a bit like a summoning symbol. It was the subject of many rumors.

“It belongs to an ancient sleeping goddess,” one rumor went. “They say that if you bring a thing that was lost and then found to the old library and offer it to her, she’ll bring change into your life.” Mounds of stuffed animals and other trinkets with sentimental value piled up in front of the library, worn and weathered as the people praying for a difference.

“It is a warning,” others said. “If we do not cherish our possessions and our loved ones enough, they become lost and belong to the demon that sleeps inside the statue at the library gate” The statue in mention was that of an angel, wings spread wide, sword in one hand and book in the other. It was called “Justice” long before the torrent of time ripped the engraving from the brass plaque. Now it was called “Loss” because the sword was dull and the angels wings were broken and the once radiant smile she wore was washed away into a blank nothingness.

“It is a calling,” the last of the whispering masses would murmur. “It is a calling to those who have been abandoned by everyone to rally together under the light of Her touch.” It was here that the cult of the Nameless Form started, in this small, unassuming town in Georgia. They were a strange but devout cult that worshiped the demon they called the Mother of the Lost. Every so often, one of them would go missing and they would hold a candlelight vigil for the “lost one”, singing praises to the Mother of the Lost for accepting one of their own into Her arms. They would not weep from sorrow, but envy for their “lost” comrade whom experienced the Sacred Change and moved to live closer to Her.

It was a strange little town, that Jonesboro. Stranger still when all that was left of it was the ruins of a library, a statue of an angel, a pile of rotting belongings, and a single piece of graffiti that read “ _bring me your lost ones_ ”.


End file.
